Lyrics

Kowalski (Primal Scream)

[film dialogue: DJ Super Soul]
There goes the Challenger
Being chased by the blue blue meanies on wheels
The vicious traffic squad cars
Are after our lone driver

The last American hero
The electric centaur, the demi god
The super driver of the golden west
Two nasty Nazi cars are close behind
The beautiful lone driver
The police number are getting closer, closer
Closer to our soul hero, in his soul mobile
Yeah baby, they’re about to strike
They’re gonna get him, smash him
Rape the last beautiful free soul on this planet

Like a butterfly on a man
Like a butterfly on a man
Soul on ice, soul on ice, soul on ice...

Public Enemy No 1 (Public Enemy)

(By C. Ridenhour and H. Shocklee)

Well I’m all in, put it up on the board
Another rapper shot down from the mouth that roared
1-2-3 down for the count
The result of my lyrics, oh yes, no doubt
[...]
Cause I can can go solo, like a Sugar Ray bolo
Make the fly girls wanna have my photo
Run in their room, hang it on the wall
In remembrance that I rocked them all
Suckers, ducks, ho-hum emcees
You can’t rock the kid, so go cut some cheese
Take this application of rhymes like these
My rap’s red hot, 110 degrees
So don’t start bassin’ cause I’ll start placin’
Bets on that you’ll be disgracing
You and you mind from a beatin’ from my rhymes
A time, a crime that I can’t find
I’ll show you my gun, my Uzi weighs a ton
Because I’m Public Enemy number one

You got no rap, but you want a battle
It’s like havin’ a boat, but you got no paddle
Cause I never pause, I say it because
I don’t break in stores, but I break all laws
Written while sittin’, all fittin’ not bitten
Givin’ me the juice that your not gettin’
I’m not a law obeyer, so you can tell your mayor
I’m a non-stop, rhythm rock poetry sayer
I’m the rhyme player, the the ozone layer
A battle what? Here’s a bible so start your prayer
A word to the wise is justified
If they ask you what happened, just admit you lied
You just got caught a, for going out of order
And now you’re servin’ football teams their water
You just got dissed, all but dismissed
Sucker duck emcees, you get me pissed
It’s no fun, being on the run
Cause they got me, Public Enemy number one

For all you suckers, liars, your cheap amplifiers
You crossed up wires are always starting fires
For you grown up criers, now here’s a pair of pliers
Get a job like your mother, I heard she fixes old dryers
You have no desires, your father fixes tires
You try to sell ya equipment, but you get no buyers
It’s you they never hire, you’re never on flyers
Cause you and your crew, is only known as good triers
Known as the poetic lyrical son
I’m Public Enemy number one

Time To Get Ill (Beastie Boys)

(Lyrics by M. Diamond, A. Yauch and The King)

I’m not the type of person who likes to waste my time
And when I’m on the mic – I just say my rhymes
Because I’m out on bail – the check is in the mail
They can sentence me to life – but I won’t go to jail
I’m cool calm collected – from class I was ejected
Just me, Mike D., and M.C.A. – we’re rarely disrespected
I got all the time that I need to kill
What’s the time? – it’s time to get ill

You been fully captivated by that funky ass bass
Your girlfriend screams when M.C.A.’s in the place
He stumbles in the room with the Chivas in his hand
Cold chillin’ on the spot at the microphone stand
I’d have the pedal to the metal if I had a car
But I’m chiller with the Miller – cold coolin’ at the bar
I can drink a quart of Monkey and still stand still
What’s the time? – it’s time to get ill

Went outside my house – I went down to the deli
I spent my last dime to refill my fat belly
I got rhymes galime – I got rhymes galilla
And I got more rhymes than Phillis Diller
M.C.A. takes a stand – man you’re in command
Homeboy, turn it out and don’t give a damn
My name is M.C.A. – I’ve got a license to kill
What’s the time? – it’s time to get ill

Riding down the block with my box in my hand
Today I feel like chillin’ just as chill as I can
Coolin’ on the corner with a forty of O.E.
’Cause me and M.C.A. we’re down with Mike D.
When I run a jam – I don’t give a damn
When I’m throwing bass – I say, ”Thank you ma’am.”
Fuel injected, rhyme connected – running things
I’m the King Adrock and I’m the king of all kings
I’m looking for a spot – things are gettin’ hot
I’m M.C.A., I’m here to stay – and you sir, are not
Oh no, it could not be – it’s such a sight to see
It’s such a trip – you’re on my tip so listen to Mike D.
My work is my play – cause I’m playing when I work
My name’s Mike D., as you can see and I can dot the jerk
M.C.A., Adrock, Mike D. – it’s chill
What’s the time? – it’s time to get ill

The New Style (Beastie Boys)

(Lyrics by M. Diamond, R. Rubin, A. Yauch and The King)

And on the cool check in
Center stage on the mic
And we’re puttin’ it on wax
It’s the new style

Four and three and two and one (What up!)
And when I’m on the mic – the suckers run (Word!)
Down with Adrock and Mike D. and you ain’t
And I got more juice than Picasso got paint
Got rhymes that are rough and rhymes that are slick
I’m not surprised you’re on my dick
B-E-A-S-T-I-E, what up Mike D.
Ah yeah, that’s me
I got franks and pork and beans
Always bust the new routines
I get it – I got it, I know it’s good
The rhymes I write – you wish you would I’m never in training – my voice is
not straining
People always biting and I’m sick of complaining
So I went into the locker room during classes
Bust into your locker and I smashed your glasses
You’re from Secausus – I’m from Manhattan
You’re jealous of me because your girlfriend is cattin’

(bridge) There it is – kick it!!!

Father to many – married to none
And in case you’re unaware I carry a gun
Stepped into the party – the place was over packed
Saw the kid that dissed my homey and shot him in the back
I had to get a beeper ’cause my phone is tapped
You better keep your mouth shut ’cause I’m fully strapped
I got money in the bank – I can still get high
That’s why your girlfriend thinks that I’m so fly
I’ve got money and juice – twin sisters in my bed
Their father had envy so I shot him in the head
If I played guitar I’d be Jimmy Page
The girlie’s I like are underage (Check it!)
Girls with boyfriends are the kind I like
I’ll steal your honey like I stole your bike
Your father – he’s jealous ’cause I’m making that green
I’ve got the girlie’s numbers from the places I been

(repeat bridge)

You wanna know why – because I’m
October 31st – that is my date of birth
I got to the party and I did the Smurf
Taxing all females from coast to coast
And when I get my fill I’m chilly most
We rag-tag girlies back at the hotel
And then we all switch places when I ring the bell
I chill at White Castle ’cause it’s the best
But I’m fly at Fat Burger when I way out west
K-I-N-G-A-D whammy
All the fly ladies are on my jammy
Went to the prom – wore the fly blue rental
Got six girlies in my Lincoln Continental
Met this girl at the party and she started to flirt
I told her some rhymes and she pulled up her skirt
Spent some bank – I got a high powered jumbo
Rolled up a wooly and I watched Colombo

Coolin’ on the corner on a hot summer day
Just me, my posse and M.C.A.
A lot of beer – a lot of girls – and a lot of cursing
Twenty-two automatic on my person
Got my hand in my pocket and my finger’s on the trigger
My posse’s gettin’ big – and my posse’s gettin’ bigger
Some voices got treble – some voices got bass
We got the kind of voices that are in your face
Like the bun to the burger – like the burger to the bun
Like the cherry to the apple – to the peach to the plum
I’m the king of the Ave. – and I’m the king of the block
I’m M.C.A. – and I’m the King Adrock
I’m Mike D. – I got all the fly juice
On the checkin’ at the party on the forty deuce
Walking down the block with the fresh fly threads
Beastie Boys fly the biggest heads

New York (Sex Pistols)

An imitation from New York
You’re made in Japan
From cheese and chalk
You’re hipy tarts hero
’cos you put on bad show
Oh don’t it show

You four years on
You still look the same
I think about time
You changed your brain
You’re just a pile of shit
You’re coming to this
Ya poor litlle faggot
You’re sealed with a kiss
Kiss me

Think it’s well playing in Japan
When everybody knows Japan is a dishpan
You’re just a pile of shit
You’re coming to this

Ya poor little faggot
You’re sealed with a kiss

Still oh out on those pills
Cheap thrills anadins
Aspros anything you’re condemned
To eternal bullshit
You’re sealed with a kiss
Kiss me

A kiss a kiss you’re sealed with a kiss
A looking for a kiss you’re coming to this
I wanna kiss anything
Oh kiss this eh boy

(From ”Never Mind The Bollocks, Here Is The Sex Pistols”, 1977)

How High (Charlatans)

How high oh! I can kiss the sun
Run a minute mile while you hitch hike
Love shines a light I’ll be a winner cup
And I’m lookin’ for the one who cut you up
You’re not having me you know the skies are mean
And I’m hopin’ for a way to free you, love

I’m fixing holes the ones you break up come in from your drive
And the hand that rocks you cuts you up like lyrics of your life

I can’t buy what I’ve done before
I want to open up another door
I’m going to let you pass I’m on another pass
I want to be the king while you zig zag
On a holy road like Caine from Kung Fu
How high oh! I can kiss the sun

Hang on to your hopes my darlin’ don’t let it slip away
And the hand who holds you keeps you warm and helps you live today

Love shines a light and it takes and it hurts
I know I’m right I can bend ’til I burst
And love shines a light and repays you with us
Yeah too right I’m gonna pledge my time ’til the day I die

How high oh! I can kiss the sun
Run a minute mile while you hitch hike
Love shines a light I’ll be a lovin’ cup
I’ll be down when you’re down I’ll be up when you up
You’re not havin’ me I know the skies are mean
And I’ll be looking for a way to free you love